In the Valleys of Grace
by ashletloose
Summary: Deyna, a soldier of the emperor's legion, finds himself in the middle of a prophesy. A prophesy that requires him to give up his allegiances, his home, even his identity. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Ashley Hay

EH 390

July 13, 2010

The sun's scorching fingers sear across my skin. My eyes flicker open and promptly slam shut upon meeting the jarring light of the summer sun. I am suddenly very aware of the dry, raspy breath scraping in and out of my cracked lips; each lungful more painful than the last. My left hand grasps convulsively around my sword, dusky brown fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the worn leather of the pommel. Achingly, I swivels my head from side to side, and then with painstaking effort I extend my careful probing to each limb checking my battered body for broken bones. The examination yields discouraging results. My ribs were broken or fractured by the weight of my horse crushing me in her fall, and I cannot feel my right leg.

With every passing hour the sun's light grows stronger, blaring forth like herald's trumpet. The oppressive heat has made the stench of battlefield palpable. Carrion, seemingly unperturbed by the heat, feast upon the remains of the furious battle. A vulture lands unnervingly close to my head whose addled wits rally enough strength to realize the imperative need to find shelter.

Every ounce of concentration is then funneled into getting my body to respond to my brain's commands. _Move_. My left leg twitches in response. _Move_! Nothing, not even a twitch from my bruised limbs—a moment of panic flashes across my consciousness. _Move_! _Move goddammit_! _Move_! I suck in a lungful of stale air, jab an elbow into the earth, and shove myself into a sitting position. The air screams back out of my lungs on a wave of pain startling the nearest birds into flight. Tears sting my eyes in with the effort to stay conscious. When my breathing returns from ragged back to a dry rasp, I begin to survey my surroundings.

Death is everywhere. Dismembered body parts are scattered across the rough grasslands. Bodies lay piled one atop another making it impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Crows fill the air, raucously cawing out their delight and alerting the other scavengers to the location of the mostly human banquet. The land is a blur of black feathers and clotted blood. I can see no living being besides carrion. Not even a stray horse lingers at the edges of the field as most of them lay pincushioned to the earth by arrows and spears. The tree line of the Southern forest is the only distinction that can be made, and that is at least twenty leagues away.

I return my attention to my numbed right leg. It has swollen to grotesque proportions. Having lost my dagger in the chest of the man who had speared my beloved horse, I clumsily cut away the cloth of my pant leg using my sword. Blood has congealed into a dark jelly between the flesh and leather of my now too tight boot. My leg is a mottled red and purple sausage bulging out of its diminished casing. Setting my jaw, I take the sword mid-blade and carefully wedge the tip between the leather of the boot and my fevered calf and attempt to saw through the boot. The slick leather forces my hand to slip and the sharp steel of my blade jabs into spongy flesh. Stars burst brightly into existence before everything goes black.

A small, almost reluctant breeze kisses my feverish skin. The unforgiving sun has given way to balmy night. I try to uncurl myself from the fetal position only to faint once again.

A chestnut stallion wanders through the battle grounds prodding one body after another. None of them respond to his inquiring muzzle. The full moon washes the land in an eerie silver light, the birds are silent silhouetted guards over the mangled armies. It is a portrait of Hell.

"Aaagh"

The stallion stills at the sound. Waiting.

"Aaagh"

The stallion follows the moans until he locates the injured soldier. The moonlight gives the soldier's raven hair an ethereal glow. His square shoulders are slumped with his long arms wrapped protectively, instinctively around his injured leg. He moans with agony as if pain radiates throughout his entire body. Stooping low, the horse nuzzles the man's face, which only serves to elicit another moan. The horse gives a loud snort before plopping down beside the soldier to sleep.

I groan as I wake. I feel stiff and stretched like old leather. A horse neighs to my immediate left. My body gives a violent jerk in the shock sending a surge of fiery pain through my lungs. I scramble up onto my elbows and come face to face with a velvet muzzle. The horse cocks his head so that we are looking directly into each other's eyes. Those large chocolate orbs blink once before he heaves himself up off the ground. I crane my neck to see him fully. He's at least seventeen hands high with a gleaming chestnut colored coat that perfectly sets off his black tail and mane.

"Easy boy, easy." I try to use a soothing tone, but my voice cracks from thirst and disuse. He tosses his silky black mane and paws the ground impatiently. I tentatively put all my weight onto my left arm and stretch my right hand towards him, but he prances out of reach. Again he neighs, tosses his head, and prances around me in a semi-circle.

Puzzled by his antics I enquire, "What are you doing?" He snorts in reply. I wait a beat and ask again, "What are you doing?" This time I swear he rolls his eyes. Smartass horse. He dips his head to eye level and holds my gaze and then, he slowly turns until we are facing the same direction. Just as I was about to ask his intentions for a third time, he kneels down until my head is parallel with his neck. He turns and looks me in the eye again before roughly nudging my head. I cry out in reflexive pain and try to swat him away. He does this several more time before I realize that he is pushing me toward his own body. I look from him to my bum leg. No harness, no bridle, and no saddle. There's no way I can ride him bareback in my condition, but it's plain to see that he's going to continue rattling my brain around inside my skull until I move.

I grab a sweaty fistful of his silken hair for leverage and ease myself closer to him inches at a time. I'm in so much pain by the time we are making skin contact that I collapse against him. I can't distinguish one part of my body from another. He whinnies at me to keep going, or at least that's what I think he's saying. Every muscle tenses in preparation for what will happen next, I give up on breathing entirely. I fling my left arm around his neck, pull myself upwards, and miraculously manage to get my left leg over his broad back. Hissing through my teeth, I bury my face into his mane. His muscles ripple and I brace myself for what's coming next. Gingerly, the horse rises onto all fours, and as if heedful of his rider's condition, he steps guardedly through the pockmarked grassland.

I hang haphazardly onto his back with my entire body pressed as close to him as a second skin. He heads east, following at the edge of the Southern forest. The hours lengthen with the sun's shadows. We come to a low stone wall and we swing our direction to the north away from the forest.

Shortly after nightfall, we come upon a small glade. In the center of the thick foliage is a sprawling cottage. A structure so unobtrusive to its environment, that it was barely distinguishable excepting the swirl of smoke rising from the chimney.

"Welcome to the Council Deyna. I am Kort, and I shall be your guide."


	2. Chapter 2

Ashley Hay

Eh-390

July 20, 2010

The voice had come from the direction of the doorway. It was hard to see him. There was a strong feeling that he was not there. When I tried to focus my eyes on him they involuntarily jerked away. Two young boys materialize out of the darkness and help me to slide ungracefully off the horse. I stroke the strong beast's neck and whisper a thank you into his waiting ear. I know he hears me. I know he understands.

"Gallyn is a good friend of mine. I am very pleased to see that he has brought you here as swiftly as I asked him," the voice belongs to a man that has silently moved to stand right behind me. The man is taller than me by at least a head and older, but it is impossible to guess his true age. His beard is the color of the night and falls thickly to his chest. His hair is infused with silver light, it is slightly longer than his beard. But, it his eyes that are the most unsettling. His eyes are milky white with uneven pupils. Perhaps the need to not see him comes from those eyes.

My breathing is heavy with fatigue and standing upright is proving to be impossible. The man does not ask if he can help me before slinging my arm over his shoulder and pushing his own around my waist to support my waist. "Let's get you inside. I have a healer waiting to see you. She has been fretting to see about your wounds since we saw you fall in battle." I do not ask how he saw me get injured from a distance of a day's hard ride. I do not want to know what those eyes can see. Not for the first time today, I am questioning the wisdom of my actions since I encountered that horse, Gallyn.

Inside, the cottage seemed to magically expand from quaint to rambling. There is a great room right inside the door that is sparsely decorated. There is a grand fire pit in the center of the room with a strong, high flame burning out of it. Something is off about the room. Something is missing. It takes me a sluggish moment to figure it out. Noise. The fire is not eating wood and crackling its pleasure, but rather it is fiercely punching through the air as if reaching something. Lighted torches sit snugly in sconces on every wall of the square, gray stone room. Just to the side of the fire waits a wizened old woman with brilliant white hair piled high on her oval-shaped head. She is wearing a heavily embroidered emerald green tunic and strange golden slippers whose toes curl in a tight spiral.

"This is Elly, the high priestess and healer of the Moon Cathedral."


	3. Chapter 3

Ashley Hay

EH 390

July 27, 2010

"Full introductions are quite unnecessary, Kort, when the boy has bled half to death," Elly says without hesitation. There is a rumble of a laugh from Kort who urges me towards the high priestess.

"You must forgive me, Deyna. We have all been waiting for you quite anxiously. Your presence here is the final cog to set things into motion, you see." Before I can force a reply through my clenched teeth, Elly takes the last few steps forward and lays her bony hands on either side of my face,

"Kort has always been an impatient man. Come, let me relieve you of your body's pain." Her mouth twitches into a half smile as she gestures toward the fire, "Please, lie down."

I reluctantly do as I'm told. I do not have the strength to fight them. The agonizing wheeze of my own breath and the stabbing pain of my leg fill the majority of my brain with an intense buzzing, and are a constant reminder of my ineptitude. Kort half drags me to the pallet set out for me and gently helps me on my journey downward.

The pallet that has been prepared for me is a great pile of earthy smelling furs. Their stale odor makes me think that they have gone unused for years. My eyes swim as I try to focus on the raw, wooden rafters that crisscross the vaulted ceiling of the cottage. Elly's well-worn face appears right above me and hovers there a moment before disappearing again. I can feel her bustle around. There are muffled sounds of glass clinking.

Her face reappears, "Drink this," she says while pressing a drenched rag to my cracked lips. The liquid is honey sweet and smells like a warm summer night. My heart slows, my breathing slows, my consciousness slows. I am floating through a garden of night blossoms.

"He won't feel anything now," Elly murmurs to Kort who has taken a seat on the opposite side of Deyna's head. Elly has removed her emerald tunic and wears only a snow white cap-sleeved gown. She settles beside Deyna and lightly places her hands on his ribcage, and for a few moments she simply feels him breathing. With deliberate care she begins running her hands up and down the fractured ribs. Concentration creases her brow and she begins to hum the rhythm of her hands. She senses Deyna's bones responding and in her healer's mind she sees the hairline cracks seal themselves shut.

"That was the easy part," she says while eyeing Deyna's blood-caked leg. "I will need more energy than Deyna's body can afford to spare to heal that leg. I tapped into his reserve energy for his ribs, but I cannot use what little is left. It would kill him." She pauses while holding Kort's gaze. He understands the path a healer takes. Healers must keep the balance of life. It takes energy to heal wounds and that energy must be replaced. Nothing can be taken without something being given in return. "We will need a donor."

Kort sighs heavily, "I had hoped it would not come to this. I had hoped we could give him a choice regarding his fate." They two are silent for a moment thinking of the burden they are about to place on the young man.

"We have no choice, Kort. You saw it. We all saw it. If he is not bound to us, then all is lost," Elly stresses each word. She knows there is a chance that Deyna will revolt. His body may not willingly accept the life force of another.


End file.
